A Shoulder To Cry On
by girlnextdoor14
Summary: This is a sequel to Kate's Closure. Kate decides to take one of her ballet students, a troubled nine-year-old girl named Morgan, under her wing. The more she gets to know her, the more similarities she sees between her student and her sister, Anna.
1. Chapter 1

Kate:

"All right, girls, we're going to do our practice routine. You've all been practicing your arabesques like I told you to, right?" I called to my ballet students.

The gaggle of nine-year-olds in bubble gum-pink leotards dissolved slowly and found their positions on the hardwood floor. Little giggles bounced around in the room; I silenced them with a cool glare. Then I turned and slid the mix CD into the stereo and hit PLAY.

As elegant flute trills sang through the speakers, I quickly positioned myself at the front of the room, my back facing my students. I studied the girls through the floor-to-ceiling mirror, watched them shake off their silliness and transform into proud, graceful dancers. This transition always astounded me, the way they grew up in the blink of an eye. I always thought they should have been out and about, being silly, being nine years old. But it wasn't my job to keep them young and innocent. The parents paid for the classes, so it was the parents who made the decision. And their decision was to teach their children discipline through strict dance lessons.

"Okay, you guys remember the first step?" I yelled. "Here we go!"

The girls leaped into action. I led them through the motions, and the dancers copied my every move. I surveyed the room carefully while I danced. Every couple of steps a girl would stumble or shake a little bit, but they quickly regained their step. I was proud of them. They had come a long way from their first day of dance lessons.

About halfway through the song I stopped dancing and let them try it on their own. As I called out the moves, I observed them, feeling pleased: under my gaze they weren't a hair out of line.

"All right, you know what's next. Show me your plies!" I clapped my hands in time to the beat. The girls plied flawlessly.

My eyes wandered to Morgan, my best student. I sure didn't like to pick favorites, but Morgan was really something special. She was a tiny slip of a girl, pale and bony, with flyaway brown curls and watery blue eyes. At first glance, she appeared to be a weak, sickly kid. She wasn't. As soon as she started dancing, she was in her element – strong and proud. I had never had a student with such determination. Sometimes I looked at her and thought of Anna, but I never told this to anyone.

I felt the smile slip off my face as I watched her plie – she tipped precariously to one side, and a look of strain crossed her face. Even as she righted herself, I was worried. Morgan didn't wobble, never on something as simple as the plie.

I swallowed my worries and ordered, "Here's what we've been practicing for – the arabesque! Keep your legs straight!"

This time, my eyes flew straight to Morgan again. I noted the tension on her face as she extended her right leg behind her – which, in fact, was the wrong leg. Everyone else had raised their left leg like I'd told them to. I couldn't believe it – she just _forgot?_

The other girls, who usually looked to Morgan for guidance, exchanged confused looks. Morgan's face turned red and she lost her balance. She flailed her arms wildly and knocked into the girl to her left, who slammed into the next girl, and the next and the next. The whole front line collapsed like a row of dominoes.

Everyone froze for a moment. In the background, the classical music soared to a climax. I was too stunned to go turn it off.

I guess when I had taught them 'the show must go on', the girls took it to heart, because some students began to dance again halfheartedly. I snapped to attention. "Stop! Stop!" I said loudly, darting back and pressing EJECT. The CD spit out and clattered to the floor, leaving the room in total silence; I rushed to help up the fallen students, ignoring it.

"Are you guys okay?" I asked, hoisting a girl to her feet. They all began to moan at once.

"I fell on my foot all funny," cried a baby-faced blond girl, Trish, who held out her ankle for me to see. "Look! See? A bruise!" she said, pointing to her foot, which was unmarked.

"Someone scratched me when they fell!" hissed Hannah, a freckled redhead.

"Morgan tripped!" yelled a little girl named Angie. She had honey-blond hair down to her butt and moony blue-green eyes and was as skinny as a pole. She pointed harshly at Morgan. "It's her fault!"

Everyone stared as Morgan turned redder and redder. "I – I just. . ." she protested weakly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Then she hung her head, ashamed. I crouched down to her level.

All at once I knew something was wrong. Morgan never had bad days. She just didn't mess up like that. I thought of that time not so long ago when I had been lost and in trouble – and I sensed Morgan was going through the same thing. My brother, Jesse, had reached out to me then. I wanted to reach out to Morgan, too.

I felt all of the girls' eyes on me, and I quickly stood up. I reminded myself that it was not my job to baby the students; if Morgan couldn't take the pressure then maybe she didn't belong in my class. I didn't think about how her problem probably didn't have much to do with the pressure of ballet lessons. "Morgan, I'm going to move you to the back today," I said, feeling a little guilty. "Angie, you can take Morgan's place."

Morgan shuffled to the back, looking as though she were fighting back tears. I pushed that to the back of my mind and focused on Angie, who flipped her long hair over her shoulder and tied it into a high knot on her head. She grinned at me, and I forced a small smile. Angie was one of the best students in the class and was constantly trying to one-up Morgan, which I really hated. But what could I do? Morgan put up with it, so I did too.

"Okay," I said, clapping my hands, "let's get back to that warm-up, shall we?"

_ /_ /_ /_ /_ /

"Hey, nice job today, guys! I think you're really starting to get the arabesque!" I said when class was over. Hitting PAUSE on the boom box, I added, "And I can't wait to see how much you improve in the next week. See you next rehearsal?"

"You betcha!" Angie piped up in all her over-the-top perkiness. She grinned at me again, but I didn't smile this time.

The girls grabbed their bags, threw on their street shoes, and bounded out the door, giggling. Angie's loud voice echoed down the hallway as she bragged endlessly about her new position. I watched the door swing slowly shut with a final click, and suddenly felt alone in the eerily dim room.

I heaved a sigh and turned around – and collided with someone else. I yelped and stumbled blindly for a couple of seconds.

A small voice squeaked, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

I stopped flailing and opened my eyes. "Uh. . .Morgan?" I asked, feeling my cheeks pink from embarrassment. "What are you still doing here?"

She pressed her lips into a long, thin line, making her seem much older than her nine years of age. "I have to tell you," she mumbled awkwardly, "I can't take take ballet lessons here anymore." She avoided eye contact like it was the plague.

Her news hit me with a pang. I knitted my eyebrows together and stared at her hard, trying to see what was the problem. I couldn't. "Why not?" I asked. "Is. . .is this because of your mistake this afternoon? Because it's no big deal. Everyone messes up at one time or another."

Morgan shrugged, and even before she said it I knew what her answer would be. "No, that's not it."

I cocked my head. "Then what is?"

Morgan opened her mouth hesitantly. "It's. . ." she began, looking pained. I nodded encouragingly, but then she glanced at the clock and seemed to shut down again. "I. . .have to go now. My mom will be mad at me for taking so long." She slipped past me and opened the door.

I caught the edge of the door before it closed and yanked it open. "Wait," I called to Morgan's receding figure. "I should come with you. It's a hazard to leave a student alone in a parking lot when it's getting dark."

"It's not that dark outside," Morgan offered, but she didn't protest. I caught up to her and we walked down the hallway quietly. She stared at the ground like doing so would make her invisible, and I wondered about how I could open that window of opportunity again and get a reason out of Morgan.

We reached the lobby. I held open the double doors, which Morgan zoomed through as if she couldn't get away from me fast enough.

"Is your mother here?" I asked, scanning the parking lot with shaded eyes.

"Yeah, she's. . . I mean, I don't know," Morgan mumbled. "You don't have to wait for me."

"Morgan. Yes or no?" I said. "I can't leave until someone picks you up."

Morgan anxiously balled her hands into tiny fists. "I don't know. She should be here. I don't know where she is." She paced back and forth a couple times.

I tapped my fingers on my thigh, unsure of what to do or what to say. "Maybe your mom forgot to pick you up," I said.

"Maybe," Morgan said.

"I can drive you home if you can give me directions," I continued. "You can call your mom and give her a heads-up too, if you want."

"I don't know," she said.

It got quiet.

"Um. . .all right," I said. "We'll wait."

Morgan nodded, making her brown curls flounce around her shoulders. She turned around and headed for the wooden bench to sit, like she knew it was going to be awhile. A bit of the setting sun illuminated her wide blue eyes, and I saw a tiny jewel of a tear brimming in the corners. She was crying.

"Hey," I said, and she glanced up at me. I closed the distance between us with a step and put a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Morgan's eyes spilled over. She shook her head and made a humming sound like a wounded animal. I knew that sound, because it was the way Mom cried at Anna's funeral, when she wanted to keep it quiet. Like it was taboo to be loud in a cemetery - although I didn't think the residents would mind it much.

"Morgan. I'm trying to help. I won't let you quit ballet without a reason."

Morgan snuffled and blinked away her tears. "There's nothing wrong. I just gotta quit."

"Uh-huh," I said, not believing it. I was about to continue when a loud car honk cut me off. We turned to see a large, shiny black SUV roar into the parking lot.

"Morgan, baby!" yelled a very thin, very tan blond woman from the driver's seat. She had a soft Southern accent, which sounded funny compared to the way people spoke around here. "Sorry I'm late! I had a doctor's appointment and was asking the doctor about another liposuction, and the time just flew by!" She snapped her fingers for emphasis and laughed.

"Hey, Mom," Morgan replied, looking very relieved. She ran forward slid into the passenger seat.

Morgan's mother finally noticed me after she caught her breath. I saw her do a double take when she saw my bright red head scarf, which covered my completely shaved head. "Howdy. Kate Fitzgerald, right?" She thrust her hand out of the window. "Mrs. Patterson, Morgan's mom. But you can call me Cassidy."

I shook her hand. "Hi."

"That is a _phenomenal_ head scarf, by the way!" Cassidy said, flashing her pearly white smile. "It really brings out the color in your cheeks!"

"Thanks," I said, trying not to laugh. I was paler than paper and that was the truth. Feeling awkward, I felt compelled to add, "I like. . .your teeth?"

Cassidy laughed like I was the funniest person alive. "Thanks, hon. Just had 'em whitened," she said, and glanced into the side mirror to admire them. I wrinkled my nose.

The sound of a cell phone ringing interrupted the conversation. Cassidy leaned over to pull the phone out of her purse, and I got a not-so-pretty picture of the brown roots on the top of her head.

"Oh golly," said Cassidy. "It's your sister, Morgan. It's probably somethin' about her pump. Text her back, will you?" She tossed the phone into Morgan's lap and looked back at me. "Looks like we've gotta rush home. Sorry to cut this conversation short."

I shrugged. "It's okay."

Cassidy put her car out of park and began to drive away. Then I heard her exclaim loudly and colorfully and back up. "I almost forgot!" she called to me. "Morgan _did_ tell you about her situation? How she can't take lessons anymore?"

I nodded once.

Cassidy smiled. "Oh good. Thought she'd forget. You know how she gets, dontcha?" She ran her hands through her bleached hair. "Oh, it's bad news. See, we just found out her sister's got juvenile diabetes!"

I swallowed nervously and glanced at Morgan, who slumped down as far as she could in her seat. This afternoon's dance class fiasco suddenly made sense: that was definitely something that would screw up your dancing.

Cassidy was still talking. "Ain't that just a mess? Runs in my husband's family – mine's healthy as a horse. Anyway, all that insulin and the pump. . .costs a lot of money. Really can't afford much now. I was sittin' with my husband and we were tryin' to figure out how to cut costs, and the first thing we could think of was to cut Morgan's ballet lessons." She shot a sympathetic look at me. "No offense, of course. Your program is just _phenomenal_. But it's much too expensive for us, you'll see."

I nodded. "I understand."

"No hard feelings? I really do feel bad about this." I shook my head vigorously, and Cassidy smiled. "Well, thank you for understanding. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got to go home and see what's up with that darn pump, and then I've got a girls' night out! See you around!"

She laughed lightly as she sped away, and the sound of cars rushing past on a distant highway didn't seem nearly as loud as Cassidy's big voice. I stood there for a moment enjoying the quiet and the sunset, and then I drove home with one thing on my mind: I was going to help Morgan if it was the last thing I did.

_ /_ /_ /_ /_ /

_Hey guys! I'm back with my second story EVER for Fanfiction! I had massive writer's block after my first story, which was really frustrating because people - my readers - kept telling me to write a sequel to it, and I couldn't! My first story, for the book My Sister's Keeper, was supposed to take place BEFORE the epilogue of the book. I pretty much left myself no room to work in. Definitely annoying. But yes, after reading and rereading my first story to look for an opening, I finally found inspiration - and here it is!_

_Anyway, please enjoy my story. I know I'm having tons of fun planning the plot. And none of this reading-without-reviewing hooey. You took the time to read this far - the LEAST you can do for a silly old writer like me is to write a review. One sentence - heck, one WORD is enough for me. As long as it is in polite terms, of course._

_Aw heck - that's my alarm! Must get back to my grueling schedule of writing twelve hours a day! Ta-ta!_

_-girlnextdoor14  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Kate:

"I really don't know what to do about the whole Morgan situation," I said to my brother, Jesse. "Everything is complicated. I want to help, but I'm afraid that if I do, I'll just screw it all up. I wish I knew what to do, and I just _don't_."

We were sitting in my small white bedroom with the blinds drawn and the door shut so there would be no distractions. I was waving my arms around in a panicked way as I spoke. Jesse was reclining on my small twin-sized bed, looking as relaxed as I was anxious. He sighed and laced his fingers behind his head. "I think you do," he said, yawning.

"What?"

"I said I think you know what to do," Jesse said. He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned again. I rolled my eyes.

"Jesse," I said impatiently, "have you been listening to a word I said? I'm stuck, and I've been saying so for the past fifteen minutes."

Jesse sighed, sat up, and stared at me, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "Come on, Kate. You know what you're gonna do. You're gonna help that little girl no matter what I tell you."

I chewed the insides of my cheeks as he talked and stared at my feet awkwardly.

Jesse went on, "You know what you're gonna do. You're just worrying about how you're gonna do it." He winked at me, knowing he'd trapped me in a corner. "I _dare_ you to say I'm wrong."

We stared at each other for a couple of minutes silently, until I blinked and looked away. He grinned.

"Yeah, whatever," I grumbled. "You win. Now will you help me figure out my game plan?"

Jesse's eyes twinkled brilliantly. "Ooh, a plan! You _really_ want this figured out, huh?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "It isn't like a road trip. You can't just say, 'Be back in a couple days!' and expect it to work out. You have to, you know, make some guidelines." I felt a blush creeping up my neck, they way it always did when Jesse started teasing me. "You know, if you didn't have the IQ of a baboon, you'd realize it's not a stupid idea. I just don't want to make Morgan's life more hectic than it already is."

Jesse held up his hands in surrender. "Don't worry, girl. I read ya."

I began to pace back and forth restlessly. "Fine. So help me!" I stopped when I reached one wall, swiveled, and paced to my left. "I think I need to give Morgan ballet lessons." To the right.

"So do it," Jesse said simply. "Talk to your boss and see if she'll let you teach her for free."

To the left. "Fat chance."

Jesse swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned in curiously. "Why?"

Right. Left. "You clearly don't know my boss," I laughed. "She's a Nazi. A couple of weeks ago I got sick and she practically tore my head off for taking a sick day."

"It's _your_ sick day. What's her deal?"

I stopped and shrugged. "Beats me." Right. Left. Right.

Jesse reached out and grabbed my arm when I passed him again. "Slow down, hotshot. You're gonna wear a hole straight through the floor." He looked up at me earnestly. "Really, Kate. Ask her about Morgan. It's worth a shot, right?"

I thought of Morgan and her honest blue eyes, the way she looked when she danced and the brave face she put on even when I replaced her with Angie. It reminded me of the war helmet Anna wore every time she had to go to the hospital for me. "It is," I agreed.

_ /_ /_ /_ /_ /

The next day I mustered up the courage to talk to my boss, whose name was Ilana. Before anyone asks, it wasn't Ms. Ilana or Ilana Smith – just Ilana. You called her anything but Ilana and she would pound you flat.

She was standing by the receptionist's desk when I walked in, jabbing a fleshy finger at the computer screen and hissing something nasty to the receptionist. The receptionist, a tiny woman a couple years older than me who was new on the job, nodded quickly and made a couple clicks on the mouse. Ilana bent over to stare at the screen again, and the changes seemed to appease her. She rolled her eyes and stalked off, her large apple belly swinging in front of her.

"I – Ilana?" I called after her, my voice small.

Ilana turned around and stared at me the way an angry bull would a red cape. "Can I help you?" she said in a slight German accent. Ilana had always claimed she was German (which I thought was ironic considering I'd called her a Nazi just the other day). Nobody dared question it, although the last thing I heard of it was that she was born in New Jersey.

"Yes, actually," I said, straightening my spine. "I have to ask you a question. It's important."

Ilana folded her arms and flipped her frizzy cloud of red hair. "Ask away," she said. "But do it before my coffee break in. . ." She checked her watch. "Four minutes." She stared at me with her beady black eyes.

I cleared my throat, unsure of how to start. "Uh, you know. . ."

"Spit it out, child."

"Um," I stammered, "one of my students, Morgan. . ."

Right away, Ilana's eyes brightened. She knew of Morgan and her skill as a dancer, and was proud of it. "Keep going. I've got three and a half minutes."

"Um. . ." I said. "See, Morgan's family has run into, uh, financial troubles. And this means that, um. . .see, they can't pay for lessons anymore." I smiled weakly.

Ilana pursed her lips, thinking. "Hm. That is a shame." She didn't seem very bothered that Morgan would have to quit, even though she bragged about her all the time. I could see her losing interest already.

"I know," I said. "But, well. . .I was thinking."

Ilana rolled her eyes. "Oh, hallelujah! Kate was_ thinking_!" She glanced at her watch again. "Two minutes and counting. Hurry it up."

I sighed through my nose and tried not to think about how much I wanted to slug Ilana right then. "Morgan's a talented dancer, and it would really be a waste if she had to stop dancing just because she couldn't pay for classes. You know how good she is, right? And it wouldn't be a big deal to let her keep taking classes here for free, would it?" I smiled encouragingly again.

Ilana's nostrils flared. "Are you suggesting that I let some girl sneak into classes without paying?"

I opened and closed my mouth, trying to think of something else to say that would make it sound better. I couldn't. I shrugged and nodded instead. "She's our best student."

Ilana shook her head, causing her wild red hair to fly everywhere. Suddenly infuriated, she shouted, "I don't care if Mary Lou Retton walked through that door and asked for free dance lessons! Everybody pays!"

I decided against telling her that Mary Lou Retton was a world-class gymnast, not a ballerina. "All right, I'm sorry for wasting your precious time," I said sharply, then turned around and stalked through the front doors. When I looked back over my shoulder, Ilana was glaring at the spot where I had been in disbelief.

I smiled to myself. I guess no one had blown her off like that before.

"Kate," a voice called. I spun around and saw Jesse leaning casually on his old beat-up pickup truck. "That was quicker than I thought it would be."

"Hey Jesse," I replied. I squinted against the morning sun. "How did you get here? I didn't even see you!"

"Followed you in the truck." He grinned and jerked his chin at the ballet studio. "How did our idea go over with the Nazi?"

I sighed and flopped onto the hood of his truck. "Not so good. She said it was a terrible idea and I can't give Morgan free lessons."

Jesse's grin melted off his face. He crinkled his blue eyes and wrapped an arm around my shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Kate. That sucks."

"It really does," I agreed.

Jesse squeezed me once. "I guess it's on to Plan B."

I giggled and leaned into his warm shoulder. My brother used to be so hard and mean, and seeing him now, all soft and comforting, made me want to hug him and never let go. "Plan B. . .I didn't really think of one."

Jesse shot me a look of mock disappointment. "Well, you better come up with one real quick, girl. I thought you had everything planned out!"

"Shut up," I said, and smacked playfully him on the shoulder.

_ /_ /_ /_ /_ /

_Hello again! Another chapter done! I just pounded this one out, so I'm real sorry if you don't like it. But even if you don't like it, please review – I'd love to see what kind of nasty things people think they can come up with about my writing._

_ Actually, I thought I did an okay job on this chapter. I hope I'm hooking my readers. . .this is going to be a long story, so please be loyal enough to stick through to the end! Don't worry, guys, this will be hard for me, too. . ._

_ Uh-oh, I hear the prison guard coming to see what's up - must get back to my hardcore writing before he sees me dawdling. It's a difficult life, but – okay, I'll shut up and stop being dramatic. Jeez. But you don't have to be so demanding about it._

_-girlnextdoor14 _


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